


The Other Side of Eden

by natcat5



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, warning for destructive use of fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natcat5/pseuds/natcat5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has always wanted control. Scott has always wanted to be stronger. Temptation isn't always a serpent, and strength sometimes means confronting those you care about the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of Eden

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out to be much, much longer than I anticipated. It was hard to write at first, but once I really got into it and started having fun with it I really enjoyed the writing of it! 
> 
> Written for [this art](http://deansbigblackeyes.tumblr.com/post/92014773363/the-other-side-of-eden-by-natcat5-done-for-sciles) by [deansbigblackeyes!](http://deansbigblackeyes.tumblr.com/) I'm very thankful for how patient they've been with me. I'm extremely bad with deadlines, and I hope I didn't stress them out too much by leaving everything so last minute. ;^_^
> 
> Also thanks to [Dana](http://ollivander.tumblr.com/) for last minute beta-ing!

**April 14**

Six days, twelve hours, and thirteen minutes after Stiles turns sixteen, he sits down and makes a list.

His legs are shaking, his fingers are twitching, scratching at his arms, threading through his hair, thrumming on the desk, and twirling the pen between them. He can’t sit still, more than usual, and he can see- can _feel_ it flaring up within him. Can smell and taste the acrid scent of smoke, sees the corner of the page in front of him blacken and curl, dissolving into ember and ash before his very eyes.

He takes a deep breath, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, and counts to ten.

He opens his eyes and makes a list.

It says: Things I can suddenly do that I couldn’t do before.

  1.      make things burn
  2.      read ~~minds emotions desires~~ people???
  3.      See the future. Sort of. It’s more like seeing possibilities?
  4.      Turn invisible????



The majority of the points on the list have question marks behind them, because he’s not sure- he hasn’t figured it all out, not yet. Burning up pieces of paper with his mind is easy to understand. It’s just…burning stuff up. But the other stuff is tricky. It’s like, he sees a person, and he suddenly knows what makes them tick. He knows just what to say to get them to do what he wants, without knowing _why_ saying that affects them. He knows what to say to get under people’s skin, without knowing what happened to them to have it affect them.

It’s weird. It’s weird, and he doesn’t get it. Not completely.

It’s the same with the future stuff. It’s like, he gets impressions, about what’s a good idea and what’s a bad idea. He wanted to cut class today, hole up in his room and figure this shit out, but then it was like…in his head, he saw his dad getting a call after a bad day at the station, and being more pissed than he normally would be about Stiles cutting class, and actually grounding him. And then he saw something else, like him cutting class, driving home, and getting in a fender bender.

He’s not sure either of them would have happened for sure, but they were _possibilities._ Possibilities that just. Suddenly sprang up. In his head. Like he was psychic or something.

Fucking _weird._

The invisibility stuff he’s not even sure is really happening. It’s just. Sometimes he’ll be standing, and people will walk right by him. But not in the normal bottom-of-the-high-school-totem-pole-we-are-ignoring-you way. But like they have no idea he’s there. They don’t shoot him contemptuous glances, they don’t walk a wide circle around him. They just breeze past him, like he’s not even there.

He waved a hand in front of Coach’s face for a good minute, before Greenberg had tapped the man on the shoulder and got his attention, turning. It was only when he had chewed Greenberg out for existing that Finstock had turned back and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Stiles standing there. As if Stiles hadn’t been standing there for the past five minutes.

So…yeah. Spontaneous invisibility. _Maybe._

Stiles sits down and makes this list, because it’s a way to compartmentalize. To turn this…whatever this is into a problem that he can figure out and break down. The fact that he’s suddenly developed strangely vague superhuman abilities will be too weird for him to deal with if he tackles it any other way. Because seriously? Superpowers? _Seriously?_

He hasn’t fallen in any toxic waste, hasn’t been bitten by any radioactive arachnids, and doesn’t have any alien heritage to speak of. He’s _normal._ ADHD aside.

The corner of the paper he’s been scribbling onto catches fire again, and Stiles swears before beating at it with a nearby hardcover textbook, blinking profusely and thinking un-frustrated thoughts. That’s one thing he’s figured out, the fires start when he’s tense, when he’s wound up, when there’s something bugging him, someone bugging him, anything getting under his skin. His notebook caught flame seven separate times during school the past three days, and it’s only by the grace of some higher power that no one except Scott noticed, and he hasn’t gotten suspended for pyromaniac tendencies.

_Scott._

Scott knows something’s up. Knows something’s amiss with the ol’ Stiles. It’s part of the problem with being friends with someone since you could barely walk. Since you were tiny and small and didn’t really know how to lie or tell secrets. You build up a relationship where trust and no secrets is actually a big thing, and then you become teenagers and everything becomes a lot harder because the truth is not always the best option.

Or, more specifically, you turn sixteen and start developing vaguely supernatural powers and telling your best bro the truth is not necessarily the best option.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Scott. It’s just that, he doesn’t know what the hell to tell him. Stiles doesn’t know where these powers came from, he still has big question marks on the tail end of three of them, and he doesn’t exactly have this fire starting thing under control. Hell, it’s probably dangerous for him to be around other people now, at least until he’s stopped setting paper products on fire without meaning to.

He feels like telling Scott is a bad idea. He feels it like something twisting, low in his gut. But it’s not the premonition thing. He can’t control that. He _wishes_ he could see the potential pitfalls of telling Scott the truth, but the little flashes of vision come randomly, not when he wants them too. He’s got literally no control over _any_ of this shit.

It’s frustrating.

See, Stiles _likes_ to be in control. Stiles is the guy with the plan. The plan man. He’s the one who figures shit out, and makes sure Scott’s big heart and ‘leap before looking’ mentality doesn’t get them both into hot water. Sure it’s less stopping him from leaping and more coming up with lies and excuses to tell both their parents after shit has hit the fan, but the sentiment is the same.

The problem is, he has these powers, and even though it’s terrifying it definitely has the potential to be awesome, but he can’t _control_ them. Right now they’re just doing whatever the heck they please and it’s _eating_ at him. There’s something in him, something within him, and he’s not in control of it, and that has the potential to actually drive him crazy.

He doesn’t want to bring Scott into this until he’s got some of this down. Until at least, he’s stopped setting things on fire. One, he doesn’t want to put his best friend in danger. And two, he doesn’t want his best friend to see him in a situation where he’s not in control.

And it’s true that if there was anyone that Stiles shouldn’t be afraid to show weakness to, it’s Scott, but at the same time….

A small flame blooms in the middle of the page, eating a widening circle through it that consumes his small list in seconds. Stiles swears and grabs the textbook again, smothering the small fire until it’s nothing but smoke, lingering in the air.

Sighing heavily, he shoves the smoking mess aside and collapses onto the desk, head falling into his arms.

He has _got_ to get this shit figured out.

\--

 

Something is up with Stiles.                        

And it’s not the normal stuff either. It’s not Lydia Martin-blues, not obsessing over some police case he shouldn’t know about, not car problems, nothing like that. Scott would know about those. Stiles would tell him. Whatever is up with Stiles right now is being kept secret from him. And that’s weird and terrifying in itself. Stiles doesn’t keep _anything_ from him. They tell each other everything. They’ve been more than best friends for years now, and they stopped keeping secrets years ago. It’s weird that there’s something that Stiles is keeping from him. It’s weird that there’s something going on with Stiles that he doesn’t know about.

And he’d be asking him about it, he’d be pestering Stiles constantly, trying to get his friend to reveal what’s wrong. Trying to get his friend to tell him the truth. Trying to break down whatever barrier that’s sprung up between them, making secrets exist again.

Scott _would_ be doing all of that.

But he’s dealing with his own issues at the moment.

He broke the handle right off the bedroom door a few days ago, and has since broken the corner off his desk, made a dent in the dry wall, and broken his bed frame completely.

Something is wrong with him. Something has _changed._

He can feel it, deep within every line of his body. He can feel strength where there wasn’t before. Can feel the definition of his arms, muscles where there weren’t any. His lungs don’t rattle and wheeze anymore, his head doesn’t ache whenever he can’t get enough oxygen. He can _breathe_ , and he doesn’t know if the new prescription of puffers he picked up last week is just _that_ potent, or if it’s tied into the strength, and the steadiness he can feel throughout his body, anchoring and centering him.

And it’s more than that, more than just physical stuff. He can-, he’s not sure if it’s just in his head, but Scott is pretty sure that he can tell when people are lying to him. It’s like a tightening in his chest, a sinking in his stomach, a feeling of disappointment and sadness and he just _knows._ He knows his homeroom teacher was lying about ‘seeing potential’ in him. He knows his mother was lying when she said she didn’t mind working extra shifts, and he knows Coach was lying when he said he might let Scott onto first line next year.

He thinks it only works when he’s focusing in on the person, only when he’s talking to them, because he hasn’t gotten any of those twisty, awful feelings just overhearing other people’s conversations in the hallway.

The whole thing leaves him uneasy though. People lie for a lot of different reasons. Sometimes people are lying to protect themselves and others. He’s not sure how he feels about being able to see through them. He’s not sure he’s ready for that kind of responsibility. He’s not sure he’s _worthy_ of that kind of responsibility.

And on top of that, Scott’s been getting…weird glimpses of stuff. He’ll brush against someone in the hallway and he’ll get, like, a flash. A vision, of them somewhere else, doing something, experiencing something, and sometimes, they are much, much younger.

He doesn’t want to immediately jump to the conclusion that he’s seeing glimpses of the past, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Even though everything that’s happening to him makes _no_ sense _whatsoever._

So even though he’s worried about Stiles, it’s a little hard to focus on his best friend’s problem when he’s up to his armpits in his own. Scott resolves to talk to Stiles once he’s figured some of this stuff, once he’s figured out how to stop breaking everything he touches and how to turn off his lie-detector thing.

If figuring out random _superpowers_ is even _possible_.

\--

**April 15**

“I can’t believe,” says Peter, eyes raised skyward and a sigh on his breath, “That we came all the way back to Beacon Hills for a _fairytale.”_

Laura turns her head to give him a dirty look, before redirecting her gaze forwards, knuckles white where she’s gripping the steering wheel. In the passenger seat beside her, Derek sits with his face turned towards the window, silent, and acknowledging neither his uncle nor his sister.

“We do as our Alpha tells us, Uncle,” replies Laura after a few tense moments of silence, “And legends and fairytales all come from somewhere. If Morell is right, and the cycle is starting again-,”

“-then we need to snap them up before hunters do. Yes, yes, I was there for the lecture, thanks.” Counters Peter with a roll of his eyes. “But I do wonder what you plan to do then, if this little town really _is_ set to become a birthing ground for a new generation of divine beings. If there’s a super-powerful Demon to rival Adam, and a super-powerful Angel to rival Eve, then just what makes you think they’ll listen to anything you have to say? What makes you think we can control them at all? If this really is a fairytale we’re stepping into, a legend, then it seems to me that it’s best to let things play out on their own. If we try and insert ourselves into the narrative, try to change events to our own benefits, we’re liable to just get ourselves burnt. And I’d rather avoid that at all costs, _especially_ if hunters come into the mix.”

“Hunters won’t come for awhile,” snaps Laura, eyes narrowed at her uncle through the rearview mirror, “We’re going off of a vision of the future. Neither of them have manifested yet. There’s nothing to draw the hunters here. If we can find them quickly, explain the situation-,”

“And what, ask them to come back to New York with us?” sneers Peter, leaning forward with a mocking expression, “If they’re just manifesting, they’ll still be kids. Kids who will either be confused and scared, or who will be excited and go power-crazy in a matter of days. You can’t just _assume_ that they’ll follow you just because you ask them to.”

“Then what would you do, Peter?” interrupts Derek, turning his head to glare at his uncle, lips curled upwards into a slight snarl, “If this plan is so terrible, then what would you do instead?”

Peter smirks, and moves back against his seat, averting his gaze and shrugging, amusement evident on his face.

“Oh no, I’m not the one in charge here,” he replies smoothly, eyes glittering as flashes of sunlight pass through their car, “This is Laura’s first time leading a mission, isn’t it? Her first opportunity to prove herself worthy of the Line of Gabriel. I wouldn’t want to undermine her authority and ruin the whole thing. I’m just playing Devil’s Advocate, is all.” The older man’s smirk curls higher, and Laura’s hands tighten on the wheel, her lips dry and pressed into a thin line. A heavy, oppressive silence descends on the car, broken a few minutes later when they pass the sign welcoming them to Beacon Hills.

“We’re here,” says Derek tersely, sitting up straighter in his seat and exhaling heavily. His eyes flick to the side, towards his sister, before turning to look apprehensively out the window.

Laura relaxes slightly, loosening her grip on the steering wheel and shooting a brief look at her brother.

“We’ll check into a motel and go see Deaton later. Until then, we should lay low,” she says firmly, “I don’t want any of us wandering around town. The Argents might still have ears and eyes here. If word gets out that three Hales are back in Beacon Hills, it will definitely get hunters curious.”

Derek nods once in agreement, and Peter sighs from the back seat.

“If we’re really looking at the rebirth of the first Demon and the first Angel,” he mutters, resting his chin on his hand, “I doubt anything we do will keep the hunters away.”

\--

There’s a new student in school.

Stiles barely notices. He’s staring hard at his desk, hands clutching the wood and jaw tightened. He’s disquietingly still, none of the usual twitching or flailing, no stream of barely intelligible chatter spewing from his mouth. He looks like he’s concentrating, hard, and barely aware of anything that’s occurring around him.

But in reality, Stiles is trying to reign in the more unruly of his powers. He’s been wound up tight for the past two days, the small flickering flames turning into larger ones, the invisibility kicking in more habitually. Whenever his mind strays too far, one of his new abilities kicks in without his consent, and he _really_ can’t afford to have his desk burst into flames in the middle of the school.

He knows that there has to be a way to handle this, to reign it in, something easier than forcing his ADHD brain to stay focused on things not involving spontaneous combustion, but he doesn’t know what yet. He doesn’t have _control_ yet.

So he stares at his desk, jaw tight, and wills away the scent of smoke that’s burning his nostrils.

Scott, sitting beside him, is keyed up, his leg bouncing up and down, his fingers tapping against his desk, running through his hair. He’s got so much energy, so much _air._ He feels strong and he feels light, and he feels like he can do _anything._ It’s still scary, this new thing inside him that he can’t understand, but the feeling of air swelling up in his lungs and the rush of power he feels when he grips something and it splinters in his hands-

He feels like he’s not weak for the first time in his life. No longer crippled by his asthma. With the added bonus of super strength and being a human lie detector. It’s _amazing._

His best friend doesn’t go unnoticed, however, and Scott looks over at Stiles worriedly more than a few times. It’s unusual to see the other teen so still. So silent. The serious expression on his face is even more unnerving. Because Stiles crashes his dad’s crime scenes- gruesome homicides –with an excited smile on his face. With a grin. It’s rattling, seeing him looking so serious.

Now might be the time, Scott thinks, to talk to Stiles. He’s got the strength a bit more under control, everything he touches is no longer in danger of immediately shattering, and he feels bad, keeping superpowers from Stiles. His best friend would find it amazing, he’s sure. Stiles is a huge DC fan, after all. He’ll probably make Scott come up with a cool superhero name, or design him a costume.

The thought makes Scott smile, and he tries to catch Stiles’s attention, tries to signal to his best friend.

But that’s when the teacher calls for their attention, and that’s when a new girl walks into the classroom.

She’s got long dark hair and dark eyes and she’s _really_ pretty. She has all of Scott’s attention in less then a second, and he almost melts on the spot when she catches his gaze, smiling at him nervously.

Her name is Allison Argent, she just transferred in, and Scott thinks the world stops when their eyes meet.

It feels like everything clicks into place, and something warm bursts in his chest. There’s something _right_ about her, and he firmly resolves to get to know her.

A shiver passes over his skin, and he thinks- he thinks he hears a voice whisper _Be careful,_ somewhere inside his brain. It’s followed by _she’s dangerous,_ and he stiffens.

However, _she’s not a threat to me_ follows soon after, and he relaxes. Then promptly tenses up all over again because hearing voices in his head is definitely _not_ normal. 

Stiles notices Allison too, but it’s because he looks at her and his skin crawls all over. It’s like there are bugs, scrambling across the back of his neck, down his back and beneath his clothes. His eyes fix on her, and he sits up a little in his seat, hand clutching at his desk.

_Dangerous,_ he thinks. _Dangerous to me. A threat._ The words pop unbidden into his mind. They’re not so much a thought as a warning system, going off in his head. His heart is pounding, and his vision goes spotty.

He keeps staring at her. She notices and looks unnerved. The scene changes, and he sees her standing over him, bloody knives in her hands.

He doesn’t stare at her and looks away quickly. She notices the sharp movement, and notices _him_. The scene changes, and he sees her and a blonde woman, guns trained on him.

He blinks, and makes a choked sound, toppling backwards off of his chair.

_Everyone_ turns to look at him, and he scrambles upright, cheeks burning. He hears someone mutter “Fucking Stilinski”, under their breath, and he turns his head to glare at them.

He doesn’t let his gaze go back to the girl though. It was the future thing- the weird sort of seeing the future ability that he still has no control over whatsoever. And the futures he just saw- neither of them were good. He looks at her wrong, and she stabs him. He looks away too quickly, and she shoots him. Maybe falling off the chair just changed the _way_ she’s going to hurt him.

She’s going to hurt him.

_She’s going to hurt him._

It’s like someone threw a bucket of cold water over him. Holy _shit._ He just saw two futures where it looked like this girl, this new girl, Allison Argent, was two seconds away from killing him.

What. The. _Fuck._

She’s looking at him now. Of course she is; he just made a complete fool of himself in front of the whole class. And her eyes- they’re concerned, a bit amused, little wrinkles around them like she’s trying to hold in her laughter.

Her eyes in the visions had been angry, vicious, cold.

The difference doesn’t matter though. Two futures exist where she tries to kill him. _To death._

And just like that, Stiles can’t breathe.

He lurches to the side and then _bolts,_ running out of the classroom with the other students’ laughter ringing in his ears and the teacher yelling angrily after him. They think it’s because he’s embarrassed. Like he can’t deal with falling out of his fucking chair. But it’s not. It’s because he just met someone who might possibly want to kill sometime in the future, and he’s never met someone who’s legitimately wanted him dead before, and it’s a little bit terrifying. A lot terrifying. His chest’s getting tight, his vision’s getting spotty, and he barely makes it to the men’s washroom, collapsing against one of the stalls.

It’s only when he’s slid down to the floor, breathing shallowly, that he notices that Scott has followed him. His best friend’s face is hazy and blurred in front of him, and it takes him a few seconds to focus on it, sound bleeding back into his world as he recognizes Scott’s voice.

“-iles! Stiles! Dude what happened? Are you okay? Hey man, try and breathe. It’s okay. Whatever’s wrong, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here, okay? I’m here.”

One of Scott’s hands are on his shoulder, and the other is touching hesitantly at his face, fingertips ghosting along his cheek before touching nervously at his hair, sliding lightly back down along his cheekbone, and then finally setting down on his other shoulder.

This close, Stiles can hear the even sounds of Scott’s breathing, can see the rise and fall of his chest, and he focuses on it, forcing his own breathing to slow and even out. Lifting a hand to rest on Scott’s chest he leans his forehead to rest beside it. Stiles closes his eyes, let’s his body instinctively copy the steady movement of Scott’s chest, his breathing, and forces himself to calm down.

He feels Scott’s hand resting on his back, rubbing circles into it, and thinks he feels the other teen’s fingers touch his hair for a moment, before withdrawing uncertainly.

With one last long inhale and exhale, Stiles pulls back, opening his eyes and smiling crookedly up at his friend.

He’s not sure how he can explain this away. He hasn’t had a panic attack in years, and falling off a chair definitely isn’t the sort of thing that would have triggered one for him. It’s not like he can just _tell_ Scott that he saw two different futures where the new girl in school is about to kill him.

Hell, just thinking about it has his heart rate picking up again. Stiles forces himself to take a deep breath, closing his eyes again for a moment and pushing some sweaty strands of hair off of his forehead.

“Sorry, man,” he says shakily, looking up at Scott with a pinched expression, “I know that came out of nowhere, but can we like, drop it for the time being? Seriously, I don’t want to talk about it. At least not in a place that smells like no one’s flushed since Kennedy was in office.”

Scott’s face scrunches up, and he looks like he wants to argue, but he leans back and stands up, one hand still on Stiles’s arm as he helps his best friend to his feet.

“But we _are_ going to talk about it, right?” He asserts, looking at Stiles with a troubled expression.

“Yeah,” replies Stiles. And he means it. This isn’t the type of thing he wants to sit on by himself. He might not tell Scott about the whole, uh, fire thingy. And the somewhat-mindreading thingie. But he’s way too freaked out about this, and way too concerned for his own safety to not tell his best friend that he’s potentially in danger from the mysterious new girl in school. So when he says yes, they will talk about it, he sincerely means it.

He gets the feeling that he’s just been given a time limit. That he no longer has the luxury of idly working through his new abilities. Making lists, fighting to stop the fires from breaking free. Trying to hide his powers, trying to stop them from going out of control, without experimenting with them, without really trying to understand them. There’s a feeling in his gut that’s telling him that that’s just not going to cut it anymore.

_Danger danger danger._ There are alarm bells going off in his head. Something shifts within him, and his gaze hardens, his hand tightening its grip where it’s resting on Scott’s bicep.

“We’ll talk,” he agrees firmly, “Give me some time. I just have to think some things through first.”

\--

Stiles ends up ditching for the rest of the day, leaving school completely and driving off in his jeep. Concern gnaws at Scott throughout all of his classes, an uneasy feeling rolling through his entire body. He would have followed after him, gone home with his best friend to make sure that he was okay, but Stiles had said they’d talk about it. And Scott- he hadn’t gotten that twisty feeling, hadn’t felt anything that said Stiles was lying.

So Scott stays in school, and holds on to the belief that Stiles is just working through something and needs to be on his own for a little bit. He’ll head over to his house after school, and maybe then they’ll be able to talk.

And then, Scott thinks, he’ll tell Stiles all about the amazing things that have been happening to him. He’s not sure how well Stiles will take the fact that his best friend can now tell whenever he’s lying, but he thinks he’ll get a kick out of the superstrength. And maybe he’ll be able to figure out those weird past flashes. It’s a weird, random power to have, but there has to be a reason for it.

There has to be a reason for _all_ of it. People don’t just randomly develop powers out of the blue. They aren’t living in a comic book. Beacon Hills is a small town, completely devoid of any nuclear power plants, genetic testing facilities, or any other shady establishment where a teenager could get stuck with vaguely supernatural abilities. Scott can’t remember touching any strange plants, seeing any strange lights, or having some cute, talking animal telling him that he was destined for something greater. He just woke up, and had superpowers.

He half feels like maybe he _didn’t_ wake up. That maybe this is all a dream. It wouldn’t be the strangest dream that he’s had.

He can’t concentrate during school at all, torn between worrying about his abilities, his best friend, and trying to catch the attention of the new girl, Allison. Logically, Scott realizes that now is really not the time to be pursuing a relationship. Not when everything in his life has kind of been flipped sideways and he’s honestly not sure what’s happening to himself.

But there’s something within him that is instinctively drawn to the girl. Something that makes her feel _right._ He tries to catch her eye all day, but her attention is firmly captured by Lydia Martin and her crowd. A barrier of flawless hair, perfectly manicured nails, and disdainful glares that keep him from getting close to Allison at all.

Which, maybe, is for the best. Now is _really_ not the time for him to be trying to get a girlfriend. And he recognizes that whenever Allison is not in eyeshot. It’s just, when he sees her…

But the school day passes, and he doesn’t get a single chance to speak with her. He catches her eye on a few separate occasions, and she smiles at him each time, but they never exchange words. By the time school’s ended, he’s able to successfully push her to the back of his mind, focusing again on his personal issues, and on his best friend.

He’s about to text Stiles and ask when’s a good time to come over, but remembers that he has work at the veterinarian clinic tonight. So instead, he sends Stiles a text asking if it’s okay if they talk over video chat, after his shift. He waits a few minutes for a reply, but doesn’t receive one, and frowns down at his phone before tucking it into his pocket. It’s weird for Stiles not to respond immediately, but he might just have put his phone down somewhere. Might be cooking dinner or doing homework. Besides, Stiles basically knows his work schedule by heart, so he’ll be able to figure out that Scott won’t be free until later that night even if he doesn’t read the text.

Still, something feels unsettled in Scott’s chest, and he takes out his phone and stares at it one more time, before shaking his head and getting on his bike and driving to the clinic.

\--

Alan Deaton is not what Laura expects. An average man, older, with a face and hands that seem gentle, and unassuming eyes. At first glance, he looks harmless.

But her family has known him for decades, known him as a servant of the Line of Gabriel, and an advisor. A contact between their family and families of the Line of Lilith, with whom they share a tenuous relationship. And a liaison between all the Demons and Angels and the hunters who despise them.

He doesn't look it, looking into the ears of a small, young dog, on his metal table, but Laura trusts her mother, trusts her mother’s trust in others, and trusts her instincts as an Angel.

Derek looks stiff, standing by the door, trying not to hunch his shoulders defensively. His eyes follow Deaton exactly, his jaw already clenching with impatience.

They left Peter at the hotel. He wanted to do some research on the town, look into any recent disturbances, see if anything had happened that screamed ‘Child of Lilith or Gabriel going crazy with new powers’. Splitting up in a town still monitored by the Argents made Laura nervous, especially with Peter being as unpredictable as he is, but they don’t have the time to take things slowly, and covering more ground by splitting up will speed things along.

Deaton picks up the puppy and carries him to one of the cages in the back, before reemerging in the operating room, pulling off his gloves and looking at both Derek and Laura in turn with a grim smile.

“As much as it gladdens me to see Hales once again in Beacon Hills, something tells me you’re not here for any pleasant reason,” he says tightly, and Laura returns his strained smile, pulling her hands out of the pocket of her leather jacket.

“It’s not necessarily unpleasant,” she replies carefully, “But it’s a reason for concern. Have you been keeping in touch with Morrell?”

The corner of Deaton’s mouth turns downwards, and he angles away from them for a moment, throwing the plastic gloves into a nearby garbage can.

“Can’t say I have,” he says casually, the line of his shoulders stiff, “Has something happened?”

“She saw a future where the first Demon and Angel manifested,” answers Derek before Laura can reply and stepping out of the doorway. “They’re supposed to be in this town, right now, probably just kids. With no idea what’s happening to them.” His eyebrows settle low on his brow, and he steps to stand beside his sister, looking at her briefly before turning back to Deaton. “If they are who Morrell says they are, they’ll attract the Hunters in a matter of days. We need to find them before their powers start to manifest. Before they can draw any attention to themselves.”

“If you can help us,” interjects Laura, interrupting before the growl in Derek’s voice can become anymore pronounced, “Deaton, if there’s anything you can do to make it easier to find them. Anyone you know who’s been acting unusual, or anyone who can help us locate-,”

The ringing of the bell on the front door echoes around the building, and all three heads turn in the direction of the sound. There’s the sound of thundering footsteps, someone fumbling with the gate, and then, the sound of splintering wood.

Deaton rushes forward in front of Laura and Derek, moving quickly out of the backroom to the front of his clinic.

Scott stands there, the door to the barrier between the front lobby and the clinic hanging from one hand. His eyes are wide and panicked, and when he sees Deaton he drops the door immediately, backing up with a guilty, terrified expression on his face.

“I am so, so, sorry,” he stresses, looking down at the broken wood with a horrified expression, “I didn’t mean- I mean, I was running late and going too fast and wasn’t paying attention- I am so sorry, I-,”

He breaks off abruptly as Laura appears over Deaton’s shoulder, staring at the splintered remains with a piercing expression. The second she enters the area a distinct, poignant smell hits Scott. It’s sharp and metallic and reminds him of the smell that came from the static on the face of the television, the scent of frayed wires, of the air during a thunderstorm.

And Scott sees Laura’s nostrils flare as her eyes pass over him, sees her pupils dilate and her cheeks flush as she takes a step forward.

“ _You,”_ she breathes out, and Scott blinks in alarm, taking a step backwards and turning towards Deaton for help.

But his boss isn’t making any motions to hold back the strange woman, and is instead looking at Scott with wide, alarmed eyes.

“I-I’m really sorry for the door,” he stammers, taking another step back, eyes flickering between the woman and Deaton, “I just- uh-, it looks like you’re busy, so I’ll just, I’ll just go around to the back door and-,”

A sudden jolt of fear spikes through his body, and Scott whirls around, just stopping himself before he crashes into the broad, black-clothed chest that has appeared behind him. He looks up, and staggers backwards at the cold, green eyes and rugged visage glaring down at him.

“It’s him,” growls the man, taking a step forward. “He’s the one from the Line of Gabriel. The new _Angel._ ”

 

\--

_Everything_ smells like smoke.

Stiles is breathing heavily, sweat beading on his brow. His nostrils are burning, and his mouth feels dry and acrid, a foul taste on his tongue. There are burnt scraps of paper, ash dust and cinders, all over his desk and floor, and the heavy smell is giving him a headache.

He’s no better at controlling his fire, has no theories on _why_ this is happening to him, and is becoming increasingly panicked about how out of control the situation has become.

His head falls into his hands, chest tight as he struggles not to panic. He can’t stop thinking about that girl, about that maybe-future. Can’t stop feeling like there’s some stupid clock ticking in the background, counting down the hours, minutes, seconds that he has left to figure this shit out. It’s not a normal panic, either. Something has put his body into defcon 1, something is telling him that he’s not safe, and Stiles is getting really, _really_ fucking tired of his body doing things without his consent.

Being upset about it doesn’t stop it though, and he lifts his head in time to see smoke curling up from the bottom of his bed post, small licks of flame beginning to eat away at the wood.

He scrambles off of his desk chair, knocking it over, and flails over to where his bedpost is going up in smoke, pulling off his plaid button up and beating at the smouldering flames.

It goes out easily, like all the fires have, but the smell of smoke lingers in the air, and he coughs, covering his nose with the back of his hand, and trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, his free hand shaking where it’s still clutching the shirt.

“My, my, that wood looks expensive. Not something I’d want to see go up in flames, hm?”

Stiles whirls, falling backwards onto his butt and then scrambling back upwards, heart beating wildly.

There’s a man standing in his room. Just standing by the window, as if he has every right to be there. He’s tall and broad and has a goatee that automatically makes Stiles want to punch him in the face.

“Who the fuck are you?” snarls Stiles, backing up into his bed. The taste of smoke is still heavy on his tongue, and he’s struggling to keep his focus, stop his head from pounding, stop another spontaneous fire from erupting in his room. Because, oh god, what if he actually sets this _guy_ on fire? Irritatingly smug looking burglar or not, Stiles does _not_ want to set anyone on fire.

“I’m just someone who wants to help,” says the man, hands held up in a placating manner, “I may not have much experience with mentally setting things on fire, but I do have some idea about what you’re going through, and how to make it easier.”

A cold chill passes over Stiles, and he swallows thickly. Before he can find something to respond with, the man extends one arm and faces his palm upwards, a smirk curling on his lips. In the next second, bright blue light emerges from the man’s fingers, gathering in a ball of sharp electricity in the middle of his hand.

Holy. Shit.

“I realize entering through your window like this won’t exactly leave the best impression,” says the man, the light from his hand casting shadows on his face, “But I smelt the smoke from outside, sensed- sensed the magnitude of your powers as it flared up. Because I’m like you, not exactly the same, but similar, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to help.”

There are a thousand and one sharp comebacks that Stiles would like to make. Cutting words to use against this creepy, suspicious looking stranger who literally climbed through this window. But his eyes stay fixed on the ball of blue lightning in the man’s hand, and the smell of smoke from the fires he can’t control is strong in his nostrils. And finally, the image of that girl, that Argent girl, trying to kill him pops up in his head, and his entire body shudders.

“You…you know what’s happening to me?” he replies cautiously, his voice raspy and strained, “You can, you can tell me how to fix this?”

“There’s nothing to fix,” says the man with a smile, finally closing his hand and dropping it to his side. “But what I can do is explain what this is, what _you_ are, and what I am, and why we exist. And if you’ll allow me, if you’ll trust me, I can also teach you control.”

_Control._

Stiles’s skin is prickling, started doing that the second the man said _trust,_ but it’s nothing like the feeling he got around Allison Argent, and it doesn’t feel as urgent. He knows instinctively that _trust_ is not a thing that’s going to happen, but the ash and scraps of burnt paper littered around his room are a glaring testament as to why he _needs_ help. Needs someone to explain this to him. Needs to get _control._

His eyes drop to look at the blackened bottom of his bed post, before lifting again, and meeting the eyes of the stranger.

“Okay,” he concedes, heart pounding in his chest, “Tell me what the hell is going on. And maybe tell me who the hell you are, while you’re at it.”

The man smiles, a slow smirk that has the hairs on Stiles’s neck standing up.

“Peter Hale,” he answers, “And are you familiar with the legend of Adam and Eve?”  

 

\--

**April 16 -17**

 

This is how the Legend goes.

Two angels tried to ease the suffering of Adam and Eve after they were expelled from the Garden. Gabriel granted a gift to Eve, of virtue, strength, clarity of mind, so she’d never be led astray again and so she’d have the power to protect herself without needing Adam to lead her. Lilith granted a gift to Adam, who was embittered by both the expulsion and his wife’s foolishness. She granted insight, cleverness, secrecy, a strong skepticism and lack of trust in others, and acknowledgement that brute strength alone is not enough to defeat every obstacle.

People can be born either from the Line of Lilith or the Line of Gabriel. It doesn’t follow any known genetic pattern and appears at random in the population. They are colloquially known as ‘Angels’ and ‘Demons’. They are well known among magic circles, and generally coveted as extremely powerful and gifted. But the Line has been watered down, and most ‘Demons’ and ‘Angels’ are unremarkable.

There is a prophecy that states that the line will be born anew, with a super powerful Demon and super-powerful Angel, said to be the reincarnation of Adam and Eve themselves, emerging on the earth.

Laura and Derek both look directly at him when Deaton says that line, and Scott really, _really_ doesn’t like the implications of that.

They say that they’re from a long line of Angels called the Hales, and when Scott points out that Deaton literally _just_ said that the power thing doesn’t follow along genetic lines, Laura smiles widely at him and says that their family has always been blessed.

It’s all too much to wrap his head around. Scott had come up with some ridiculous potential reasons for his newfound abilities, for his new powers, but an _Angel?_ Descended from, if Deaton and the Hales are to be believed, _Eve?_ Scott’s grandparents had been hardcore Christians, but he and his mother had never been big practicers of religion, and the connotations make his stomach hurt.

And to make matters worse, apparentlyhe’s not even a _normal…_ Angel. Something has Laura and Derek freaked out, something that made them come all the way from New York to California, and according to Deaton, they think that that something is… _Scott._

Or, at least, partially Scott.

Because apparently, in addition to Angels, there are also _Demons._ And they think there’s one in Beacon Hills. Deaton is quick to say that Demon does not necessarily mean evil or even malicious, but that the name is a slang term, coined because of the negative image attached to Lilith, who was said to have given Adam his new power. Laura and Derek want to find this Demon person as well, preferably sooner than later.

Because, oh yeah.

_Hunters?_

“Our powers don’t tend to be very significant now, but we used to be terrifying,” explains Laura with a wry smile, “A group of vigilantes took it upon themselves to…police us. They claim to only ki- to only deal with those who harm humans, but they’re a trigger happy bunch. And if you, or the Demon, start drawing too much attention to yourselves, they’ll be swarming this town in a matter of _hours.”_

Which brings up another point.

_Training?_

“You need to get your powers under control,” states Derek gruffly, “Breaking doors because you’re not paying attention? That stuff can’t happen. You do stuff like that and you’ll have all of us killed by the end of the week.”

Laura lightly thumps Derek on the back of his head and accuses him of being overdramatic, but then turns to Scott and tells him that, as a Hale and a leader in the Line of Gabriel, she can’t allow Scott to continue on unsupervised.

“It’ll be better if you don’t go to school the next few days,” she says apologetically, “I know this seems unreal to you Scott, and probably over the top and ridiculous, but you _need_ to get these powers under control as quickly as possible. You could hurt yourself, and you could also hurt others.”

Scott’s stomach twists, and he looks between the Hales, and then at Deaton, who is standing nearby with an unreadable expression. His boss (and they _still_ haven’t explained how Deaton is involved in all of this) gives him a single nod, and Scott swallows thickly, before turning back to the two Angels and agreeing.

Which is how he spends the next two days faking a cold in the morning to his mother, and then sneaking out once she leaves to go out into the preserve with Laura and Derek.

The ‘training’ isn’t exactly what Scott expected. It’s not the 80s style training montage that had ran through his head the first time that Derek had mentioned it. It’s about concentration, and control, and _understanding._ Using all of the abilities as tools of protection, not attack. The strength, the ability to detect lies, the power of seeing into people’s pasts- all of it. The legend says that Gabriel gave Eve the gifts so that she could protect herself, but Laura stresses that, if they can, they always use their powers to help others.

It’s surprising how naturally it comes to him, how easy it is to suddenly get the strength under control, and develop a supernatural speed boost on top of that. Derek teaches him how to control when he can tell people are lying, and both he and Laura are surprised by his ability to see into the past of others. She hypothesizes that it’s a tool to better understand others. Seeing into someone’s past could help explain why they act the way they do, could help Scott talk to them, allow him to help them if they need it. It’s not something either of them can do, not something anyone in their family can do, but Laura tells Scott to approach it the same way they’ve been teaching him to deal with his other abilities. Clearing his mind, understanding where his powers have come from, and staying in control.

Clearing his mind is difficult though, because Scott can’t stop thinking about Stiles.  

Things were weird between them, the last time Scott was at school. This whole super powers thing was on Scott’s mind, and Stiles had been acting weird about something too. They were supposed to talk about it…they were supposed to meet up and talk about it, but then Scott met the Hales, who made it clear that until he had some semblance of control, it was too dangerous for him to be around other people. His mom worked long shifts and they barely spent more than half an hour in the same room at any one time, but if Scott hung out with Stiles, they’d be one on one for hours. And according to Derek Hale, that was too dangerous.

The _last_ thing Scott wants to do is put Stiles in danger. But the idea of Stiles stewing over whatever was bothering him the last time they were together has Scott’s stomach twisting.

And what makes everything worse is the fact that Stiles hasn’t even _tried_ to contact Scott at all over the past two days. He said he wanted to talk, but there’s been radio silence on his end ever since he left school the last time they saw each other.

Scott can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing some piece of a puzzle. Something important. But there’s no time to stop and pick at it, to stop and try and figure it out. Not when he’s getting a crash course in Angelhood, with lesson number one being _stay focused._

But his mind wanders. He thinks about Stiles, he worries about Stiles, and he wonders if whatever it was that was bothering his friend has been resolved.

\--

“It’s about _power,”_ Peter whispers, fire light flickering in his eyes, “Power and control. Adam was betrayed and punished because of the mistake of someone close to him. All his strength as the first of man did nothing against the power of deceit and trickery. So Lilith gifted him with mistrust, and insight, and the power to see what was coming, to understand what people were planning, to know who was a threat. And she stopped him from relying on brute strength, and taught him to trust in other weapons. The fire that burns slow and vicious, the lightning that strikes fast and disappears, the smoke and shadow that conceal and allow for secrecy. The power to be strong, without depending on anyone else. The power to be in control, and to never let anyone take us by surprise. _That_ is the power of a Child of Lilith, of a demon. It’s all about being in control of our own destinies.”

Stiles’s eyes are burning from the smoke, but after two days with Peter, he gets it now, can understand. He’s not sure he believes all of that mumbo-jumbo about Adam and Eve and Lilith and Gabriel, but he does believe that these powers were given to him so that he’d never have to rely on anyone again, so that he could stay strong, and in control.

Because his life, he knows, has been ruled by fear. Fear of his mother never getting better, then fear of losing his father to the drink, fear of losing his father to his job, fear of losing Scott to an asthma attack, fear of not being strong enough to protect any of them, fear of being too much, too loud, too mean for anyone to want to stay around. And on and on and on.

His mother is dead, but with these powers, he could help his father. He could follow him secretly, keep him safe on the job. He could figure out which words not to say to him. Which phrases will have his father pulling out the whiskey bottle as soon as Stiles goes upstairs. He could see which activities will get Scott’s asthma going in the future, know what to avoid, when not to push his friend past his limits.

And he could look at everyone without fear. Look at the stupid, deadheaded jocks who push them around and know he could set them on fire with his mind. Look at the teachers who look at him at irritation, with blatant contempt, when they _know_ it’s not his fault he hasn’t got a filter.

He has power, and if he wanted to, he could use it to fix every wrong ever done to him. To correct everything he’s ever hated about his life.

To be in _control_.

“I’m a Demon in a family of Angels,” says Peter idly, watching sparks dance around his fingertips. “The power is so watered down that no one can even _tell_ that I’m of Lilith and not Gabriel. But even so, you wouldn’t believe how much they insist that we’re not to use our powers for our own benefit. That if we use our powers at _all_ it’s to be for the good of others.”

Amusement flickers in Peter’s eyes, and Stiles watches as he walks casually around the clearing. He’s been tasked with burning single blades of grass without catching anything else on fire, to see if the lessons in control that Peter has been teaching him have worked at all. So far, he can’t quite get it down to burning less than five in a bunch, but he’s willing to bet that’s less his fault and more because Peter won’t stop monologuing and it’s breaking his concentration.

“While humans are social animals, we are not _actually_ altruistic by nature,” continues Peter, one corner of his mouth lifting upwards in a smirk, “Particularly us Demons. After all, it was catering to Eve’s wishes that allowed the entire fall of Eden to occur. We descendants of Adam are the most aware of the shortcomings of trying to please everyone. Once you have control, I encourage you to experiment with your powers as much as you desire. You’ve been given a gift, and not using it would be truly foolish, don’t you think?”

 

**April 18**

Stiles goes back to school on Friday.

Peter, apparently, has somewhere else to be. He has family in town, he says, that have him on lockdown because they don’t trust him, and they’re bound to notice he’s been sneaking off sooner or later.

“The fact that she has an instinctive distrust of me is the only reason I think Laura might make a half decent leader,” Peter had said before he left, with a fond smile on his face, “Everyone else is in the family thinks I’m sassy but mostly harmless.”

He hadn’t given much information about this ‘Laura’ and ‘Derek’. Only that they were in town, searching for a new Angel that they believe was manifesting here. Peter said they were perfect examples of how diluted the power in the Line of Gabriel had become, and that they wouldn’t sense him unless he set something on fire right in front of their faces.

Stiles, Peter said, has great potential. The older man can make lightning dance on his hand, but he can only send shocks through direct contact. He can’t set things on fire with his mind, and he can’t do anything _near_ the scale of the hot, fast-burning fires that Stiles can create.

(There’s a corner of the preserve that’s nothing but scorched earth now. From when Stiles channeled all his energy and thought _burn_ with every ounce of power he had. The fire had been terrifying, but it had only burned for a few seconds before Peter had had him put it out again, the smoke already rising high enough in the air to gather notice.)

He’s _powerful,_ and now that he can control when he starts fires, now that he can mostly control his ability to turn invisible, he doesn’t have a sinking, awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The visions of the future are still erratic, still unpredictable, and it makes Stiles angry that he can’t seem to get a handle on them.

But everything else?

Peter told him to experiment. Peter told him to have fun. Peter told him to embrace the fact that he is now one of the most powerful people on earth. Peter is creepy and arrogant and clearly untrustworthy, but he’s right about one thing.

If Stiles has these powers, then he _deserves_ to be able to use them.

Stiles goes back to school on Friday, and the first thing he does is burn up everything inside of Jackson’s locker. With his mind.

The second thing he does is cloak himself in shadows, sneak into Harris’s classroom, and boobytrap every single drawer at his desk. Bastard deserves it.

The third thing he does is melt the tires off of Jackson Whittmore’s Porsche. Because the list of issues that Stiles has from being shoved around, belittled, hassled, and continuously mocked by Jackson is a mile long, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever do enough to fully make up for it.

He sets all of Jackson’s lacrosse equipment on fire anyways.

He doesn’t get any future flashes about him being caught or blamed for any of the crimes, so he continues. Turns invisible and trips deadheaded jocks in the hallways. Messes around with the paperwork of teachers who have picked on him because of his ADHD. Sets fire to each and every belonging of Jackson Whittmore that he comes across.

The smell of smoke is constant in is nose, but it doesn’t give him a headache anymore. Instead, it’s _intoxicating._ It makes him want _more._ There’s a moment where he thinks about the Argent girl, about how scared, how terrified she made him. But it’s that same fear that stops him from doing anything to her. He doesn’t have any more flashes of the future around her, but she catches his gaze at lunch, and there’s something stern and concerned in her gaze, like she _knows_ the first thing he did when he got to school this morning was turn Jackson’s locker into a furnace.

He leaves her alone, and he avoids her for the rest of the day, turning his gaze towards others to satisfy the hungry burning that’s settled deep in the pit of his stomach.

The list of people in school who really _deserve_ to have things set on fire is disappointingly small, but Stiles has a police scanner in his room, and he’s already entertaining the possibility of following his dad out, providing back up from afar.

The idea of setting another person on fire, potential criminal or no, doesn’t upset Stiles as much as he thinks it should. As much as it used to.

What _does_ upset him is the fact that Scott isn’t in school. Stiles has been avoiding him, worried about his powers and not wanting Peter Hale anywhere _near_ Scott, but he was hoping they could make up today. Hoping that they could catch up at school. He’s got things mostly under control now, and he’s having fun with it, besides. Now that things are less terrifying and more amazing, he feels awful about having kept this secret from Scott for so long. They’re _best friends,_ and he wants more than anything to be able to share this with Scott.

But Scott’s not here. He’s not in any of their classes. And according to the teachers in all their shared classes, he hadn’t been at school at all in the past two days.

Just like Stiles.

He doesn’t stop to think about it until the school day is almost over, until he’s stopped looking over his shoulder for Allison Argent and run out of people to practice on. There’s a niggling feeling at the back of his mind, a slight hint of unease. Because he feels like Scott would be upset, if he had been at school today. That he wouldn’t have liked, would have actively _hated_ all of the stuff that Stiles had done.

But they _deserved_ it, and most of the people Stiles had targeted had been mean to Scott too. The problem was that Scott cared about everyone _too much._ He was exactly the type of person that Peter warned him against being. Scott was kind, and caring, but he didn’t understand that kind and caring wasn’t always the best option, and didn’t always get stuff done.

So yeah, Scott might actually be mad, be…disappointed in how Stiles spent his day. But Stiles is confident that he can convince him. Is confident that he can prove to Scott that this power is his to use as he wants to, and that he’s _right_ punish the people who have been awful to them.

\--

It’s Scott’s third day training with the Hales, and he’s supposed to be working on his senses. On being able to feel the emotions of others, which Deaton says he may be capable of.

Instead, he’s riding in Laura’s Camaro and speeding towards the high school, both Hales grimfaced in the front seats.

“There have been spontaneous, unexplained fires there all day,” Laura had said earlier, grimly scrolling through a news alert on her phone, “And several teachers have reported vandalism. I think our Demon has manifested.”

Both Laura and Derek have made it clear that Scott is to stay back, and let them deal with it. That Demons tend to be more unpredictable, more volatile. Derek wanted him to stay away all together, stay with Deaton, but the idea of Stiles being in school with some power-crazy Demon made Scott’s lungs tighten and his chest start to ache. He’s fine with letting Laura and Derek deal with the Demon; he just wants to find Stiles.

Scott texts him as soon as Laura’s pulled into the parking lot, asks Stiles to meet him in the locker room. It’s their go-to place when ditching class, and it will keep them both out of Laura and Derek’s way while they hunt down the Demon.

“Go straight home once you’ve found your friend,” instructs Laura sternly, getting out of the car and stopping in front of Scott, “We have no idea who this kid is, or what he’s capable of, so stay away from us and Deaton until we tell you that we’ve got them under control. Got it?”

Scott nods impatiently, and then takes off, looking down at his phone for any sign of Stiles’s having received his text.

It’s only his superior senses that stop him from crashing into the girl who suddenly appears in front of him as he pushes through the school doors, and he stops just short of her, looking up from his phone in surprise.

It’s Allison. Allison Argent. The new girl from earlier that week. She’s just as pretty as he remembers, with the same soft hair and beautiful dark eyes. But there’s no humour in them now, and her mouth is pressed into a thin line.

Scott doesn’t even have time to stammer out an apology for bumping into her before she’s grabbing on the sleeve of his left arm, moving closer to him with hard eyes.

“Scott Mccall,” she says, and Scott has a momentary feeling of bliss at the fact that she _knows his name_ before she continues speaking and shocks him back to reality.

“If I’m wrong about you, you’ll probably spend the rest of the year thinking I’m completely out of my mind, but seeing as you just got out of a car with two Hales, I think my guess is pretty spot on.” She states, and Scott stiffens, slowly leaning away from her and tugging his sleeve out of her grip. “I-I don’t…?”

“The Line of Gabriel,” she interrupts firmly, and then smiles wryly at Scott’s shocked, terrified look, “Don’t look so surprised, I’m trained to spot the signs of manifesting Demons and Angels. And neither you nor your friend have exactly been subtle.”

Her wry smile twists into a frown at the exact same moment Scott’s stomach drops, and that feeling, the puzzle piece that he’s been missing the past few days, slowly begins sliding into place.

“What do you mean, ‘my friend’?” he asks slowly, fighting to keep himself calm, “And who exactly _are_ you?”

“A peacekeeper,” she says immediately, then hesitates and adds, “…in training. And because of that, I’m not allowed to take action on my own. Just to observe. I thought I saw something suspicious in your friend, Stiles, that first day in class, but then he fell off his chair and I thought I was mistaken. But today…” She trails off, and then gives Scott a meaningful look.

He swallows thickly.

“Stiles,” he begins slowly, his breath coming out fast and shallow, “Stiles is-?”

“I don’t agree with all of my family’s methods, Scott,” interrupts Allison quickly, taking a step backwards, “So I’m giving you this opportunity to get your friend in line. If there’s anything like what happened today tomorrow, I’ll have to tell my family about him, and they…”

Allison trails off, looking troubled. She bites at her bottom lip for a few seconds, before stilling, once again lifting her gaze to meet Scott’s.

“I’m sure the Hales have told you about Hunters,” she says flatly, and Scott’s blood runs cold.

“Find your friend, Scott,” she adds, turning away, “Before it’s too late.”

\--

There are police cars parked outside of the school by last period, and Stiles is on edge, knee shaking and pens chewed to almost nothing. No one got hurt, the fires only burned for a few seconds at most, so he doesn’t _get_ why they had to get the police involved. At least his dad’s not here. The Sheriff is good at spotting Stiles’s tells, good at telling when his son is guilty.

Not that he _is_ guilty. He was just having a bit of payback, a bit of fun. And _no one got hurt._ Seriously? The police?

When he gets Scott’s text it’s a relief, because he _needs_ to talk to his best friend. He misses him. He misses him and he’s worried about the cops and he’s starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of damage that he can do with his powers. Overwhelmed by how fast everything seems to be moving.

He’s not _scared._ He has no reason to be. Not when he’s got all this power at his disposal. Not when he’s finally in control.

But his entire body sags with relief when he gets the text from Scott, and Stiles doesn’t even wait to hear the teacher’s answer when he asks to go to the washroom, just bolts out of class with his bag in hand.

Scott is sitting on the bench closest to the door in the locker room, and Stiles smiles wide when he sees him, drops his bag and throws his arms open wide.

But his smile drops, when Scott sees him. When Scott scrambles to his feet and looks at Stiles with an expression on his face that he’s never seen before.

“…Scott?” he begins tentatively, taking a step forward with one hand held forward, “Jeez, I know we haven’t seen each other in a couple of days, but that’s no reason to look at me like I’m a total _stranger._ ”

The words strike a chord with Scott, and he stiffens, his eyes flickering towards the ground.

Stiles. _Stiles._ It was one thing when the Demon was just ‘the Demon’. Someone that Derek and Laura and Deaton talked about, and were worried about. Some unknown variable, some potentially chaotic entity that could stir up trouble for everyone in town.

But finding out that the Demon is _Stiles?_

The worst part is, Scott isn’t exactly surprised. He’d heard that most of the things set on fire had belonged to Jackson Whittmore. That all of the teachers terrorized were those that tended to pick on both Scott and Stiles. He’s always known that Stiles doesn’t care about other people the way Scott does. That Stiles prioritizes who he cares about, who he acknowledges as _worth_ caring about.

But that doesn’t make it okay. And it’s not just that Stiles is going to attract the attention of hunters, that he’s going to piss of Laura and Derek. It’s the fact that he’s messed up _days_ of work for teachers who, while annoying and mean, aren’t necessarily awful people. It’s the fact that all of Jackson’s school notes have gone up in smoke, and this close to the end of the year, it’s going to have a devastating effect on his academics. And that’s not fair. It doesn’t matter how much of a douchebag Jackson is. It’s not fair, and it’s not right. _Everything_ that Stiles has done today is wrong.

“Stiles,” begins Scott slowly, “I-I know okay? I know about the Lilith and Gabriel stuff. About Angels and Demons.”

The smile drops away from Stiles’s face completely, and his eyes widen a fraction. But then they narrow, and the surprise disappears from his face entirely.

“That’s it,” he says, mouth dropping it, “ _That’s it._ Holy shit, how did I not figure that out? It’s you, you’re the- the- are you the Angel? Is it you? Oh my god, it freakin’ figures. Of course it would be you. Who else but Scott Mccall would be an honest to god Angel? Holy shit, I can’t believe it! By which I mean I absolutely _can_ believe it. Oh _man.”_

The smile is back on Stiles’s face. In fact, he’s outright _beaming._ This makes _everything_ better. Now he doesn't have to convince Scott that all the strange crap that’s happened to him actually happened. And Scott will understand _exactly_ what he’s been going through. Hell, they might even be able to practice their shit together. It’s basically the best case scenario. The most perfect thing he could have asked to have had happen in this entire clusterfuck. He and Scott _both_ have powers. _Amazing._

But Scott, Scott doesn’t look so amazed. Scott is still looking at Stiles with a half-nervous, half-distressed, half-frustrated expression.

“What?” asks Stiles, smile dropping again. “What is it? What’s wrong? Isn’t this cool? Isn’t this amazing? You gotta tell me what you’ve been up to the last few days, because I, I’ve been…”

He trails off, watching the way Scott’s mouth tightens and his hands clench into fists at his sides. Stiles is reminded of his thought earlier. That Scott wouldn’t like the fact that he was punishing people with his powers. That’s what that look on his face is for, probably. Scott being a goody-two shoes, as usual. God, it’s no wonder he’s an _Angel._

“Is this about the fires and stuff?” asks Stiles, squinting his eyes, “Because you know, all of those people are assholes who have been getting away with being assholes for far too long. And if I’ve got the powers to do something about it-,”

“You can’t use your powers like that Stiles!” explodes Scott, taking a step forward with his arms raised, “I don’t know if anyone’s been helping you with your powers the way I’ve been getting help, but they should have told you, you can’t use them like that, it’s not right. And there are hunters-,”

“What do you mean it’s not right?” asks Stiles, eyes narrowing as he meets Scott’s advance, “If I’ve been given these powers, why the hell should I listen to anyone who tells me not to use them? This isn’t a comic book, Scott. There’s no moral code for superpowers.”

“You can’t go around setting things on fire, Stiles! What’s Jackson supposed to do for the Chemistry test next week, huh?” shouts Scott, his voice cracking with anger, “You can’t use your powers like this, torturing people you don’t like! And the hunters, Stiles, if you keep doing this, they’re going to come after you. They’re going to come after _us.”_

“For _what?_ No one’s _dead._ No one’s even _injured._ The senior prank last year did more damage then this!” snarls Stiles, taking a few steps forward. Smoke curls upwards from his clenched fists, and the corner of one of the nearby benches starts to smolder.

“It’s not about the damage you do, Stiles!” yells Scott back, a desperate note to his voice. He doesn’t know who set Stiles on this power trip, but he doesn’t know how to snap him out of it. Doesn’t know how to steer him away from going down a path that ends staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun.

“And, and it’s not about what’s ‘right’ either,” he adds, stepping backwards and dragging his hands down his face. “It’s just...”

He takes a breath.

It’s been just over a week since all of this started. He’s been with the Hales for _three days._ He knows about the legend of Adam and Eve. He knows about the Hales and what they believe in and stand for. He knows about hunters, and the dangers they pose. But more than anything, he knows his best friend. And this isn’t him.

“You shouldn’t let powers change who you are,” he says finally, after a long silence. “You wouldn’t have set Jackson’s stuff on fire if you hadn’t found out you were a Demon, would you? And it’s not just about not getting caught. It’s about consequences, and…and responsibility.”

Stiles’s eyes go dark, cold, and his mouth quirks upwards humourlessly.

“With great power comes great responsibility?” he quips sarcastically, and Scott holds back a flinch, clenches his jaw and keeps going.

“Why does the first thing you do with your powers have to be destructive?” he continues on, flicking his tongue over the cracks in his lips, “You don’t have to help people, if you don’t want, but you don’t have to hurt people either. And Stiles,”

Scott clenches his fists and takes a step towards Stiles, who’s staring at him with eyes dark and shadowed, sullen looking, angry.

“Destroying property _is_ hurting people.” He says quietly, but firmly. “Ruining someone’s car, eviscerating their school notes, that’s hurting them, Stiles. And that’s not you. You might not go out of your way to help people, but you don’t go out of your way to hurt them either.”

Stiles sucks in a breath, and Scott _sees_ something crack, sees whatever dark, malevolent shell had wound itself around his friend begin to break apart.

“It’s not about…” Stiles blinks furiously and swallows, breaking gaze with Scott and turning his head to face the wall, “It’s not about _hurting_ people, Scott. It’s about being in control. About not being afraid. They’ve pushed us both around for so long, made us both feel like shit, and now we can _do_ something about it. We can push _back.”_

And Scott can feel it, can feel the emotions rolling through Stiles in waves. Anger, humiliation, fear, all the things characteristic of a high school student on the bottom of the food chain. Of a teenage boy with a parent whose job means he could be killed any day. Of a kid with severe ADHD in a school system with teachers not equipped to deal with it. With an asthmatic friend who constantly got bullied, pushed around, and mocked for not being able to keep up.

He can feel it, and he can understand it.

Scott steps forward, and keeps stepping forward, and doesn’t stop until he’s enveloped Stiles in a hug. Gathered his friend up in his arms and buried his face in his neck.

Stiles stiffens for a moment, seizes up. But then he melts, sags into Scott’s embrace, and returns the hug.

_“Shit,”_ he says, voice muffled in Scott’s jacket, “I just- Scott, I just- I’ve always felt so useless and annoying and helpless and feeling _not_ that is just- Scott I _swear_ it’s not about hurting people. I don’t- I don’t want to hurt people. That’s not what it was about. That’s not why I did it.”

“I know,” replies Scott, “I know, Stiles. I know you. That’s why I was so scared. That’s why you had me so worried.”

“I won’t do it again,” states Stiles hoarsely, face still smushed into Scott’s shoulder. “I’m not…I’m not exactly _sorry_ for wrecking all their shit, but I won’t do it again. I think…I think I’m not ready. I think I don’t understand these powers as well as I thought I did. I don’t think this is what being in control is supposed to feel like. Like there’s something burning in my stomach.”

“No, yeah, that doesn’t sound like a good thing,” agrees Scott with a nervous chuckle, breaking the embrace so that he can move back and look at his friend.

The disappointed, frustrated, sad look is finally gone from Scott’s face, and Stiles feels something loosen in his chest at the sight of his friend smiling at him again. He feels unseated, unsure, and all of the confidence from earlier has faded into uneasiness. It felt _right,_ using his powers to do whatever he wanted, getting back at everyone who ever made him feel weak. But it also felt overwhelming, the feeling of fire coursing through him heady and intoxicating, almost too much for him to handle.

Or maybe…not almost. Maybe it’s just too much for him to handle right now.

“I’ve been working with these two Angels called the Hales,” says Scott after a few seconds of silence stretch between them. “Laura and Derek. They’ve been helping me a lot, and even though you’re um, you're a demon, I think they could really help you too.”

Oh. That’s right. Peter _had_ said that his niece and nephew were dealing with the new Angel. He’d gone on long spiels about the incompetence of his family in terms of power, but Laura and Derek clearly hadn’t had any trouble teaching Scott how to control his.

“Yeah?” replies Stiles with a raised eyebrow, “Sure they won’t mind dealing with a problem child like me?”

Scott grins. “Derek thinks _I’m_ a problem child. I’m pretty sure _you’ll_ have Derek on a plane back to New York in a matter of _minutes.”_ Stiles tilts his head, an interested, mischievous expression on his face, and Scott laughs again.

It feels right, like this. Laughing with Stiles, being here with Stiles. It doesn’t matter if they’re a Demon or an Angel or reincarnations of ancient biblical figures or not. As cheesy as it sounds, as long as they’re together, Scott doesn’t care _what_ they are. Everything else can wait. The Hunters can wait. The Hales can wait. Whatever that prophecy thing is can _wait_.

“I know that, technically, I should take you straight to the Hales,” Scott says sheepishly, a crooked smile spreading across his face, “But they _did_ tell me to find my friend and go straight home. And I feel like I owe you a COD run, since I’ve sort of blown you off completely the past few days. You with me?”

_Because before everything gets crazy, I want a moment of normalcy with you. Because you’re my best friend, and I’m afraid of what’s going to happen in the future, but I know that I want you beside me._

 Stiles squints at him for a few seconds, like he’s searching for some double meaning in Scott’s words. Then his face relaxes, and he nods, one corner of his lips quirking upwards.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, “I’m with you.”

 

 


End file.
